Emily blinked hard. “She’s dead?”
“We suspect there was more at play here than we first thought. You visited Miss Richards the morning she was killed. Did she say anything to you? Mention she wasn’t getting along with someone?”
“No . . .” Emily’s mind whirled.
“And you don’t know of anyone on the outside who might have, say, tracked Miss Cook down, in revenge for killing Jordan?”
Emily shot up. She hated what the detective was getting at. “Absolutely not,” she almost shouted. “Jordan—or her people—had nothing to do with Robin’s death. Alison DiLaurentis killed her.”
There was a long pause. “Excuse me?” the detective finally said.
Emily knew she couldn’t stop now. “Ali arranged for Robin to kill Jordan—they met the morning of Jordan’s death. Then she broke Robin out of jail and killed her to close the loop.” Her heart thrummed hard. It totally made sense. This was how Ali was going to keep her Ali Cats from talking. She murdered them.
There was static on the line. “I’m sorry. You’re talking about Alison DiLaurentis, the girl who killed her sister and died in that fire?”
“Yes, her,” Emily practically shrieked. “She’s not dead, okay? She’s out there. I saw her.”
“Did Jordan mention Ms. DiLaurentis when you two talked?” the detective asked. “Had she seen her? And I don’t understand—you’re saying that Ms. DiLaurentis was in the Ulster women’s prison?” There were sounds of rustling papers.
Emily made a fist. He so didn’t get it. “Of course Jordan didn’t mention her—Jordan never saw her. And no, Alison wasn’t in the prison. Robin was her contact on the inside, and Ali broke her out somehow. She killed Cook once she was on the outside and they were alone because she couldn’t have her telling anyone what happened.”
“So Ms. Cook was Ms. DiLaurentis’s killing machine.”
Now the detective’s tone wasn’t inquisitive—it was mocking. Emily felt a jolt of frustration. “I know how it sounds,” she said. “But look into it, okay? Look at the log of Ms. Cook’s visitors—I know for a fact that Ali saw her on Tuesday. Check the surveillance cameras. Dust for fingerprints. Do something. Because right now I feel totally unprotected. Just like Jordan was. Do you know I haven’t even seen Agent Fuji or anyone else at the school where I was attacked, trying to figure out who did do it if it wasn’t Alison?”
“Is that so?” The agent sounded worried.
Emily hadn’t even thought of it when she said it, but now she stared at the double doors to the natatorium, realizing it was true. She’d been here every day for chemistry class since her attack, and she hadn’t seen anyone dusting for prints or asking questions once.
And then it hit her. Maybe Fuji didn’t believe her about that, either. Maybe she thought Emily had made up the attack for attention.
A growl rose from the back of Emily’s throat. She tossed her phone into the backseat even though the detective hadn’t hung up. They didn’t believe her. No one believed her. Meanwhile, there could be hundreds of Ali Cats looming around them, watching, knowing everything. And the police didn’t care. Not one bit. No one cared about her anymore—not in the way Jordan had.
And she was pretty sure no one ever would again.
25
FAME DOES FUNNY THINGS TO A GIRL. . . .
On Friday afternoon, Hanna sat in her trailer on the movie set, taking deep breath after deep breath. Her phone buzzed. MIKE, said the caller ID. When she answered, Mike sounded happy and relaxed.
“The Amtrak café worker let me order a beer!” he whispered on the staticky line.
Hanna giggled. “So you’re going to be drunk for the party tonight, huh?” He had boarded a train from soccer camp and was due in Rosewood shortly after four, which gave him enough time to get ready for the Rosewood Rallies fund-raiser.
“Nah, only buzzed.” Mike sighed wistfully. “I can’t wait to see you, Han. What are you doing right now? Primping? Getting beautiful?”
Hanna stared at her silver dress, which hung in dry cleaner’s plastic on a hook on the closet door. She’d picked it up just before coming to the set, but she wasn’t quite ready to put it on yet. “Um, I’m about to start getting ready,” she said, feeling too jittery and superstitious to tell Mike about what she was really about to do. “I’ll call you in a little bit, okay?” She made a kissing sound and hung up.
Then she stared at herself in the mirror, pushing her auburn hair behind her shoulders. “You can talk to Hank,” Hanna whispered to her reflection. “You deserve to be the next Hanna.”
Shortly after Jared put the bug in her ear about taking over Hailey’s role, Hanna had crept up the stairs to Hailey’s dressing room and knocked lightly on the door. Hailey had let her in, and she’d immediately started railing about what a stupid movie Burn It Down was. “The plot is dumb,” she said, tossing her possessions into a bunch of cardboard boxes she’d dragged out of the small closet. “The characters are dumb. It won’t go anywhere at the box office.” She peeked at Hanna. “No offense.”
Hanna had shrugged, letting the comment roll off her back. “Well, maybe it’s a good thing this happened, then,” she’d tried. “You seemed really unhappy.”
Hailey nodded vehemently. “Damn right,” she said. “I was miserable. This the best career move in a while. I’m so happy this is done.”